Thoughts Caused by Birthday Cake


The cake has been brought to you from via myself, Monteith Slythersuth.  The sentiment behind this cake is one of pure derangement.  The unnecessary and extravagant placement of strawberries may seem like an inconsequential loss to the multitudes of humanity who wish their lips could touch a sliver of bread.  Yes,  people are starving.  Feed them.

Some starving humans are children, some are adults.  Some are old, some are young.  The point is that it is our job as humans of the universe to reach out our hands to help others.  For that is why we were given hands, I suppose.  

But let us backtrack to the original statement of this post, which, I believe, was “unnecessary and extravagant placement of strawberries.”  I am forced by forces which you may never meet, to take back those words.  The placement is not unnecessary.  It is beautiful and makes the cake look appealing for lovers of strawberries.  Without those strawberries, eaters might not be tempted to eat, and this would be a crime similar to the crime of loitering on others’ property.

Let the spirit of the wild run through your blood, let the wind from the north fuse life into the bloodless bones of the elderly.


Asthentins Ickberium


On the eve of the star of Neptune

When the sun reigns down on dim

Whence the glow of night

and the ball of light

induce the still of fright to slim.

Ither whilst twice,

It all sounds nice

but, alas, as the rain turns to dew.

Wallace won’t stand

The American flag

and the sun kind of shines

with the yew.

America, so beautiful

so bold so striped in blue.

It turns by the day

and it slips in the hay

for shimmering stance with stew.

The Legend of the Black Cabin


Many years ago, there lived a fair maiden with long blond hair.  Yes, she lived once.  But she died shortly thereafter.  Nevertheless, we shan’t weep over spilt coffee.

A fire awaits

rain thunders outside

a small smoky hut retains its glow.

Passersby shudder

They wonder and speak


They stumble over rocky hills.

They look at that cabin.

Tremble in fear

For the ghost of the girl

haunts till this day.

Or night, or whatever. 

Every hour, day and night.

She haunts for haunting is the occupation of ghosts.

She is a conscientious ghost

Who does her job well.

So be scared young child

No matter how cute.

Be scared strong man 

Size matters not.

Fear.  Let the fear of the haunted

remain forever in your bones.


A Frog and a Turtle: A Parable




There was once a frog named Charmolotte.  Like all frogs, Charmolotte loved catching flies and discussing politics.  The frog was proud of his policy of never raising his voice, even when provoked.  One day, as he was hopping on one of the endless frog groats in the river, Charmolotte happened upon a small, rather ugly turtle.

“What is your name, green sir?” Charmolotte asked the turtle in a friendly voice.

The turtle did not answer.  He thought for a moment, and finally replied, “My name is Sir Dikenson, and I am your father.”

As can be expected, Charmolotte was irreparably shocked.  Additionally, he was slightly dubious.

“Kind sir,” Charmolotte replied to the little turtle, “While it is true that the two of us are both green, it is obvious that our genes differ at incomparable levels.  Whilst I hop from stone to stone, from lily pad to lily pad, you barely crawl at all.  You are passive and slow. Your shell is large and unwieldy.  I, on the other hand, am sprightly and handsome.  Is your research sound?  Are you absolutely sure that you are my father?”

Charmolotte was torn.  He had always dreamed that he would one day meet his father yet he never imagined that he descended from a family of turtles.

“Yes, Charmolotte, I am sure.  I am your one and only father.  Trust me.”  Saying this, the turtle held out his little turtle arms to wrap Charmolotte into a hug.

Charmolotte joined his so-called father’s embrace.  The pair sat for hours, reviewing the turtle’s family history.  Charmolotte slowly came to accept the circumstances of his father’s life.  The slowness of the turtle took a lot of getting used to, but the frog made an effort to accept his father’s natural state of being.  A mere four days later, the turtle died of diabetes and pulmonary heart disease. Still, their ending is indeed a happy one, for what can be more gratifying than the discovery of a child in old age?  The knowledge that his son lived on, fulfilling his legacy, and remembering his face was enough to allow the dear old turtle to die with a smile of satisfaction on his green face.

And for the frog?  He jumped onto the next lily pad with a full heart.  He had become a better , more patient and accepting frog for having met his so-called father.

And happiness reigned upon the kingdom, forever.

There Will Be Reprecussions



The ultimate duty

Leaves nothing to spare,

A magnificent reason

That none will hold dear.

The truth of the matter

To make the thing stout

A possible conclusion

For when it comes out.

O whereith O whatith

Can this thing be?

An immediate solution

Or pure history?

Zara’s Son


The sun has set

the hour is late

hordes of people shiver and wait.

They wait on lines,

they wait for bread,

they hope that they don’t

get shot in the head.

Their stomachs are empty

their clothing in tatters.

Often they think

that none of it matters.

The war has destroyed

all they hold dear

now, thinks Zara, there’s nothing to fear.

There is nothing left

to be ruined, forsaken.

Her thoughts are interrupted

when her child does awaken.

She looks into the eyes of her bright baby boy

and decides right then not to give up on joy.

Years have gone by,

the boy is now thirty.

Sometimes, his shoes get a little bit dirty.

Still he is glad,

for he was raised him with pride

His mother never gave up

Never left him behind.


The Origins of the Humble Artichoke


Artichokes originated in the Mediterranean Basin.  The flowers and roots of this thistle have been discovered amongst the ruins of ancient Greek and Roman civilizations.  Romans began eating artichokes together with their children as a means to health and fertility.  The roots of the artichoke were crushed into a smooth paste, and painted onto the heads of the young in order to give them strength and long life.  This paste was also used as a pastry filling.  Injected with sweet date nectar, it was added to sweets and eaten at events such as weddings, funerals, and civil court hearings.

The artichoke has very few known medical properties, however, according to my recent research and clinical trials, it has been found to cure asthma, may be used as an appetite suppressant, and in the case of cunjuctivitus, can be rubbed deep into the eye for a full recovery within a one month period.

Excessive use of artichoke beds may increase the risk of heart attack, degenerative disease, and the likelihood of developing weak knees, excessive gas, and uncontrollable bladder.


Aginares a la polita is a dish which originated in Constatinople (not Istanbul.)   Aginares a la polita is a stew made of artichoke hearts, potatoes, and carrots and spiced with onion, lemon, and dill.  Do eat the best version of this dish, to be found in one small village called Argolida in the Peloponnese of southern Greece.